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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26927572">I'm sorry, Larry</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplenegative/pseuds/triplenegative'>triplenegative</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Reservoir Dogs (1992)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hospitalization, M/M, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:20:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,004</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26927572</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplenegative/pseuds/triplenegative</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Listen, kid. You're a fucking hero. Everyone in the department worships you for even making it out alive."</p>
<p>Freddy's eyes stung. He wanted to cry, but no tears came, instead he swallowed hard and looked away. He didn't want anyone to know; they all knew, but he wished they didn't. He wished he could keep it all a dirty little secret, something between him and the warehouse walls.</p>
<p>"Don't feel like a fucking hero."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mr. Orange/Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'm sorry, Larry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank you to tim roth stan twitter for reminding me to post this</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Worst month of my fucking life, man."</p>
<p>Freddy rubbed the corner of his eye, letting himself lay back onto the impersonal hospital pillows. He missed the pillow he'd used in his fake apartment - it was lumpy and often uncomfortable, but he hated the plush mountain of pillows he'd been stranded on for days now. He missed his apartment.</p>
<p>"I miss my pillow."</p>
<p>Holdaway chuckled, but Freddy didn't think it was funny. </p>
<p>"Listen, kid. You're a fucking hero. Everyone in the department worships you for even making it out alive."</p>
<p>Freddy's eyes stung. He wanted to cry, but no tears came, instead he swallowed hard and looked away. He didn't want anyone to know; they all knew, but he wished they didn't. He wished he could keep it all a dirty little secret, something between him and the warehouse walls.</p>
<p>"Don't feel like a fucking hero."</p>
<p>Holdaway shook his head, still smiling. Freddy wanted to kill him for smiling.</p>
<p>"Hey c'mon, cheer up. I'll go ask the doc how long you gotta stay, alright? You'll be outta here in no time, man."</p>
<p>Freddy nodded and Holdaway stood, using the edge of the hospital bed to lift himself out of his chair. The whole bed shifted with his weight and Freddy winced as his body shifted with it, but Holdaway didn't seem to notice.</p>
<p>"Rest up, Newandyke. You still have to write up your final report."</p>
<p>And with that, Holdaway was out the door. Freddy stared at the ceiling for a while, waiting for the lump in his throat to go away. He wished he had a cigarette.</p>
<p>"Fuck."</p>
<p>He pressed his hands against his face, trying to ignore the memories that washed over him every time he closed his eyes. His stomach constricted in some semblance of a sob, but it only made him groan in pain. He was still recovering from surgery, and though he'd been stitched up, sometimes he still felt like he was laying in a puddle of his own blood. </p>
<p>He almost wished he was still on the warehouse floor. He almost wished he'd died right there in the back of Larry's car, or in Larry's arms in a pool of his own blood. He wished he'd just let the Cabots kill him; he wished Larry had just let him die. He wished Larry would have just shot him in the head for being a cop, put him down like a bad dog. Like a rat.</p>
<p>He still remembered Larry's blood spraying on his face, Larry's body hitting the floor next to him, the way he'd cried like he'd never be able to breathe again. He could still taste the blood in his mouth, he could still feel Larry's hands in his hair.</p>
<p>He still remembered the back of Larry's car, gasping and moaning and smudging the windows. Larry's hand in his, jesus christ, who still fucked holding hands?</p>
<p>None of them really deserved to die. Sure, they were bad fucking guys, but Freddy regretted every single bullet. The woman was innocent, so was her baby - he wondered if there was anyone else to take care of the kid. </p>
<p>Blue had once accidentally mentioned a wife, Brown had told Freddy this was his last job. He had looked so hopeful, talking about getting out.</p>
<p>He didn't even fucking remember killing Blonde, and he barely remembered Marvin Nash, the cop he kept seeing in his dreams telling him to quit the force. Freddy was in the operating room during his memorial service. </p>
<p>Nice Guy Eddie really was a nice fucking guy, despite being the son of a crime boss. He'd bought Freddy ice cream once, told him he was smart, that there were better things out there for a guy like him. Better than diamond heists.</p>
<p>They say Joe Cabot barely had another year left anyway, but Freddy took that too. He'd stolen the last months of his life, over some meaningless diamonds that were insured anyway.</p>
<p>And of course, Larry. Freddy got sick every time he even thought about it.</p>
<p>Nobody knew what happened to Pink. Freddy didn't want to know. Just hoped he was far, far away from LA. Maybe up north somewhere, he'd complained about the heat all the time. Canada, or something. Somewhere nice.</p>
<p>Freddy wished one of the surgeons had fucked up and cut something vital and killed him on the operating table. Anything that would make it end sounded appealing at this point.</p>
<p>He pressed the call button and waited. A nurse would be there any minute, he was an important patient. A hero.</p>
<p>The door opened, and Freddy didn't hesitate for a moment.</p>
<p>"Can I get any more painkillers, I'm in a world of fuckin' pain right now-"</p>
<p>"Woah there, cowboy."</p>
<p>Fucking Holdaway.</p>
<p>"Quit wiggling around, maybe it won't hurt so much."</p>
<p>Freddy clenched his fists, but he didn't say anything, just rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>"Listen Freddy, I've gotta head out, I've gotta go down to the station. Another officer will be outside your room any minute now," he paused, leaning on the doorframe. "Give me a ring if you need anything."</p>
<p>Freddy nodded, twisting his fake wedding ring around his finger. He'd been wearing it when they took him away in the ambulance, and he hadn't taken it off the entire time he'd been in the hospital. It wasn't even real gold, it was some cheap bullshit that he'd picked up in a pawn shop. His head throbbed, and he realized Holdaway was expecting some acknowledgement.</p>
<p>"Okay," he managed.</p>
<p>"Alright."</p>
<p>There was a pause as Holdaway reached for the door handle.</p>
<p>"You know, I'm not afraid to die. I wish someone would just kill me already. I wish someone would come in here and shoot me."</p>
<p>Holdaway sighed and shook his head at the floor. He wasn't smiling anymore.</p>
<p>"Get some rest, kid."</p>
<p>Freddy closed his eyes and waited for the click of the door closing before he let himself cry. The hospital bed was cold, and Freddy silently wrapped his arms around himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm sorry ❤</p></blockquote></div></div>
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